


won't treat you like you're oh so typical

by veterization



Category: Nancy Drew (Video Games)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 21:56:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3625683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veterization/pseuds/veterization
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Nancy missed dates with Ned, and one time Deirdre didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	won't treat you like you're oh so typical

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: I wrote this entire story over the course of a few weeks in a note on my iPhone except for one tiny excerpt I wrote during class with actual pen and paper.
> 
> The title is from Tegan and Sara's song Closer. For whatever reason Tegan and Sara seem to have written the soundtrack to Ned and Deirdre's love story and I'm not complaining about it one bit.
> 
> Also, this story has very very mild Frank/Nancy if you squint (honestly it's more Ned's paranoia than anything else) so if that isn't your jam, consider returning from whence you came.

The first time, Frank and Joe extend an impulsive invitation to Nancy to join them on a train. 

The timing is not exactly great. Ned has arranged for him and Nancy—and Carson, if his workload permits—to have dinner with his parents when he gets the message from Nancy that she needs a rain check. It's all a little last minute, or perhaps only Nancy sharing the news with him was the last minute part. 

He doesn't make her feel guilty about it even though a big part of him wants to. After all, schmoozing to his parents is something Nancy should be concerned with should, in the near or distant future, he and Nancy become serious enough to discuss a more committed relationship. His parents have read plenty about her in the papers, but after all the years Ned and her have been going out, they've hardly actually seen each other in person.

So he goes, arms laden with flowers to appease his mother when she sees her son sans girlfriend on the doorstep after "cooking hard all day for her" and "looking forward to seeing her again," to his parent's house. The complaints, however, don't come—instead, his mother's face droops with pity when she takes in the vacant spot next to him like he's a hop and a skip away from being a single man. He would've preferred the complaining.

"So what happened to Nancy?" Mrs. Nickerson prods as she's fanning out Ned's flowers in a vase. "Are you two fighting?"

"No," he says instantly. Because they're not. She's just halfway across the world most of the time, which sometimes makes it look like they're fighting. "She just got called on a case. Some friends of hers invited her on a train." Remembering his mother is a fan of trashy ghost shows, he brings a convenient distractor out of his pocket. "John Grey will be there. You watch his show, right?"

She doesn't take the bait. "Some friends invited her on a train?"

"Yeah. They're detectives too. Frank and Joe Hardy."

Mr. Nickerson breaks into the conversation where he's absent-mindedly chewing on freshly roasted garlic bread. Ned realizes with an uncomfortable churn in his stomach that garlic bread is company bread. Bread made specifically to charm Nancy. "Boys?" Mr. Nickerson asks. "You're okay with her running off with other guys?"

Ned shifts in his seat under his father's curious gaze. "I'm fine with it," he says slowly, even as his feelings become rather mixed as his father stirs the pot of jealousy. "She's just... doing her job."

"James," his mother chastises, "don't say things like that. You're putting all sorts of ideas in Ned's head."

Flustered, Mr. Nickerson's hand claps down on Ned's shoulder. "I didn't mean to worry you, son," he assures him. "You're a real catch. Of course she's being faithful."

"Of course," Mrs. Nickerson echoes. "Although it would be nice to have her around more."

The sentiments are a little late. Ned spends the next few minutes while his parents bring dinner over to the table and stuff him full of garlic bread appetizers wishing he could tell his past self to skip the dinner entirely and save himself the humiliation of seeing his parents alone. Apparently, Ned himself doesn't cut it anymore when it comes to entertaining or pleasing his parents. 

The ten minutes after that are full of him thinking of Nancy, alone on an old romantic train, working in close proximity and probably rooming with the Hardy Boys, two attractive guys with an almost lethal combination of street and book smarts. Are they sitting around a table with their heads bent close, thighs pressed together, deep in the passions of detective work? Are they exploring the train and sharing private little smiles every time they find something interesting? Should Ned be concerned?

He sends her an email when his parents are putting dishes in the sink, just something quick asking if she’s doing all right and that he didn’t want to call and interrupt her trip, and that his parents missed seeing her. 

Nancy emails back a few hours later saying she promises not to miss the next dinner. He gives her the benefit of the doubt for now.

\--

The second time, things happen even more quickly. Nancy is called to Italy to solve a mystery and arranges for Ned to be shipped off to Bayport, either under the impression that he's in need of babysitting or will be hopelessly bored without her and will require company, entertainment, and some travels of his own.

For all his worrying about the possibly of infidelity, girlfriend stealing, and all around shenanigans behind his back, the Hardy brothers are okay guys. He has to admit, he knows less about Frank, who took off for a remote location almost the second Ned walked through the door, but Joe seems like a laidback, stand-up guy. Still, staying in their spare room listening to Joe talk about all the adventures he's gone on as he "promises to fix Ned's car" is still a little strange.

He sits in the Hardy's garage watching Joe's head disappear into the depths of his car's engine, nursing a soda in one hand and steadying a radio on his knee that's playing old jazz tunes from Mr. Hardy's music collection. Frank’s disappearance, seemingly timed with startling synchronicity with his own arrival, makes him wonder.

"Frank doesn't have a problem with me, does he?"

Joe reappears from under the car's hood. He rubs his neck and leaves a smudge of dark grease behind. "Of course not," he says. "Why would he?"

He dives back into the car elbow-deep like he's performing open heart surgery on the engine. Ned can come up with a few ideas, and from the twitch to Joe's eyebrow, he probably isn't the only one.

"I just thought." He waffles around the idea of saying what he's thinking aloud. "Never mind."

Joe hardly seems to hear him. He's banging a wrench repeatedly inside the car where the sound echoes, loud and persistent, drowning Ned out. Sitting by his malfunctioning car with another boy—a boy he doesn't even know all that well, to be honest—is not how he originally wanted to spend his weekend. 

The little bit of restraint Ned has slips away without waving goodbye. "So Frank doesn't have feelings for Nancy, does he?"

This time, Joe hits the back of his head on the hood. He grabs an oily towel splayed over his tool box and wipes down his hands, shooting Ned a carefree grin—the well-practiced grin of a detective who knows how to lie well. He wonders if Nancy's learned to make the same smile, or worse, if she's used it on Ned before.

"Frank's a good guy," Joe says, expertly evading the question.

"That's not really an answer."

A hint of discomfort cracks through Joe's smile. He shrugs carefully. "Listen," he says. "He'd never do anything. He knows the bro code."

With a sensation akin to a light stomp over his organs, Ned realizes it's a yes. It makes sense, he supposes. They have a lot in common and he should know better than anyone that Nancy's incredible if not downright irresistible. He pictures the two of them—solving cases together, grabbing lunch at cafes in exotic cities, sleeping on each other's shoulders in planes. He wonders if Nancy knows how Frank feels. 

"Are there any other girls in your life?" Joe asks.

"Sure," Ned shrugs. "But not like Nancy."

"I'm just saying. I bet there are girls you actually talk to more than Nancy since she's gone a lot."

Ned's face tightens at the implications. "I'm not a cheater, Joe."

"I didn't say you were!" Joe says quickly. "I'm telling you that there's no harm in... you know. Keeping a line in the water in case Nancy wriggles away."

It sounds very ominous, like Joe knows more than he's willing to let on, like he's only sharing the bits and pieces he thinks Ned can handle knowing. He looks down at his soda, listens to it hiss as bubbles pop to the surface, and tries to just imagine life with a girl who isn't Nancy. What would she look like? Would she act like Nancy? Would she remind him of her?

"Well, there are girls who are interested in me," Ned admits. "There's this girl back home who has a crush on me, I think. I'm not sure."

"Yeah? What's her name?"

"Deirdre," Ned says. "She really hates Nancy, I know that much."

"What does she look like?" Joe grills.

Ned shrugs. His ears feel hot. Discussing girls in a garage with other bros—especially girls who aren't Nancy—feels almost like he's dipping his toe into the slippery slide that is the pool of infidelity. 

"She's pretty. Dark hair. Nice body." He scratches his neck, fidgeting as he speaks. "And there are some other girls. Like, um—this girl Minkie likes to hit on me at parties." He wonders where this is going. "Are you trying to get me to find backups or something?"

"All I'm saying," Joe says with his car-greased hands in the air, "is there's no harm in worrying about number one, big guy."

It doesn't make the situation sound any better. It makes him think—if Joe's adamant assurances that Frank is a "good guy" who wouldn't move in on another man's girl are wrong, would Nancy be charmed by Frank's love and ultimately leave her current relationship? Ned's frown, punctuated by his furrowed eyebrows, is deep-set. He tries to imagine going out with other girls—getting used to their personalities, introducing them to what he's like, taking Nancy's picture out of his wallet. It feels like trying on a suit too snug for him. 

"I can't even imagine life without Nancy," Ned says resolutely.

"Well, to be fair," Joe says, "aren't you already living life without Nancy most of the time?"

It stings more than he'd like. The garage, already chilly in February weather, seems to drop a bit more in temperature. 

"I mean, you're a college boy," Joe cuts in after catching a glance of Ned's expression. "You're good at sports. You're in a frat. You should be getting drunk every Friday night hitting on sorority girls. Or, well—you could be."

He shrugs, like his suggestions of Ned moving on from Nancy are all very casual, like he isn't actually stepping on Ned's fairytale hopes that despite everything, he and Nancy are meant to be. Through Joe's eyes, breezy at best and highly doubtful at worst, he and Nancy are doomed. 

Ned taps the side of his soda can to gauge how full it is. Still pretty full. "I'm going to get another soda," Ned says, getting to his feet. "Mine's empty. Want anything?"

Joe shakes his head. It gives Ned the opportunity to bolt from the garage and escape the nearly overwhelming reality that is Joe's bluntness for a few minutes. 

He calls Nancy while he's in the kitchen, stalling, and gets her voicemail.

\--

The third time, he's just finished putting together an extensive romantic getaway he's been saving up money for when he gets the news that Nancy's an ocean away in Germany.

The fight they have on the phone is nasty, but aside from the truth-bombs, it disturbs him how much it really makes him notice how mind-numbingly dependent his life is on Nancy. His excitement, his leaving the house, his love life, it’s all in Nancy’s hands.

He calls Frank and Joe in a moment of weakness, but not before he makes a passive aggressive YR Page status that makes him feel only slightly better. _Plans cancelled again. Love the feeling of always coming in second._

Joe is a good listener. Even Frank, who Ned fully expects to be angry with at a moment like this where his relationship with Nancy is on the rocks, is comforting to talk to. Frank vanishes halfway through the call after Ned's finished his side of the story, presumably to call Nancy and grill her for more details. 

"I just worked really hard on this trip," Ned admits to Joe. "It took a lot of planning. We were gonna go skiing."

"Sounds awesome," Joe says. "Hey, I love skiing—take me instead. Or, you know what? Go yourself. Take a load off. Just chill in the mountains for a few days and clear your head."

It's tempting. Joe's a cool guy—that week up in Bayport with him was more fun than he thought it would be—but he's not sure he wants to experience the Great, Big, Love Is Everywhere Package with him. The couple massages, the nightly strawberries, and the romantic sled rides for two don't exactly entice Ned to take Joe up on his offer. Pathetically enough, it still sounds better than going alone.

It would be better if this had been just the second time. Or the fifth. Or even the thirtieth. Ned thinks Nancy's missed at least fifty dates by now, all for reasons he can never gripe about without looking like an asshole. What is he supposed to say, don't help a friend in trouble? Don't be someone's maid of honor? Don't help the Italian police bring down a crime ring?

"I don't know," Ned mumbles. "I'm just so sick of always coming in second. It's like to Nancy, I'm not even a priority."

"Don't take it personally, big guy," Joe says. "Maybe you're just feeling a bit resentful because your life's not as exciting as hers?"

Of course it isn't. It never has been. He used to think he was a pretty interesting guy what with the varsity sports and fraternity house and an all-in-all genetically gifted face up until Nancy started solving mysteries. Now it seems to glare at him from everywhere that his life is nothing but a collection of watching old TV shows and planning the occasional college prank on the frat next door while Nancy infiltrates mafias and escapes death and uncovers century-old treasures.

"Yeah," Ned agrees. "So it'd be nice if she included me a bit more."

"Does she know you feel that way?"

"Yeah," Ned says. He pauses. "I don't know." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Nancy's never been big on the relationship talks. It's hard to even find the time to tell her how I feel."

"You should try to call her and talk to her then."

Bitterly, he thinks about how Frank and Nancy are probably on the phone right now, talking about him, having the conversation Nancy should have the guts to say to Ned herself so they can actually fix this. He knows Joe is right, but for a few seconds, he wants to stew and pout. He wants Nancy to come to him first to apologize. He wants to stop feeling so restless all the time, stuck at home like a pet not ideal for travel.

He remembers a few months ago when Nancy was in Ireland, leaving Ned to go to the Dunhills' pool party alone. He had spent most of the evening in the closet hiding from Minkie until Deirdre had unearthed him, pulling him over to the punch bowl all the while reminding him to stay hydrated. If Nancy had been there, he wouldn't have needed pulling out of a coat closet in the first place.

"I will," he says, and eventually does.

They talk it out, at least until the connection on Nancy's cell phone cuts their conversation short. He says all the things he's supposed to say, the things Nancy expects him to as a boyfriend who shouldn't always keep one eye out the window, waiting for his girlfriend's car to come rolling up the driveway. 

He doesn't end up going on the trip like Joe suggested. He cancels it instead, unwilling to see romantic reminders that he's supposed to be traveling with another while he's there. He puts his snow pants deep into the back of his closet, packs away his suitcase, and spends the refund on popcorn, hot chocolate, and a stack of DVDs thick enough to distract him until Nancy comes back.

\--

The fourth time, Ned's starting to get annoyed. 

Nancy texts him just as he's laying out a quilt and unloading a picnic basket under the shade of a tree by a lake before sunset, nothing but a quick farewell because she's off to the south to find a missing girl, someone tragically kidnapped right before her wedding. 

She tells him she "just got the call in the middle of the night" and "knows it's very short notice," but she can't let the mystery stew when there are lives at stake. It's a story Ned's heard before, and lying on the grass rubbing his temples as he tries to figure out how his life became a string of unfulfilled dates, he lets himself feel sorry for himself and his ridiculous relationship.

"Looking for some company?"

Ned opens his eyes to see Deirdre looming over him, hair framing her face as she looks down, her eyes sweeping over the quilt and basket full of candles and sandwiches. 

"Hey Deirdre," Ned says, shielding his eyes against the setting sun. "I'm fine."

She rounds the quilt like a lion circling its prey. "Where's your other half?"

"Solving a mystery," Ned says, and for all his half-hearted effort, he can't keep the bitterness out of his voice. Deirdre notices, zeroing in on it instantaneously. "Somebody was kidnapped or something."

"Really? You mean the White House hasn't enlisted her help sidekicking the president yet?" Deirdre flops down, without asking, on the other side of the quilt. She brushes her hair away from her forehead with a great sigh. "That girl is too much. Sometimes I have trouble believing she's even real."

Ned thinks of her—her bouncy hair, her charming smile—and agrees. Shame she's never around for longer than a few seconds for him to appreciate those things. 

He isn't sure what to say. Typically by now he'd be defending Nancy against Deirdre's comments, but he's feeling just cranky enough to let her snideness slide. "She'll be back eventually," he ends up saying.

"Yeah, only to leave again a few days later," Deirdre murmurs. "You know it's true." She rolls onto her stomach and props herself up on her elbows before Ned can protest. "Hey, I'm a little hungry. Hint, hint."

She nudges her chin in the direction of the picnic basket sitting forgotten under the shade. It's full of cranberry juice boxes and homemade sandwiches Ned actually watched Food Network to create, reminders of all the effort he puts into his relationship that never seems to be noticed. Right now even the word _relationship_ seems to mock him. 

"Help yourself," Ned says. He's sinking into a dark place where he can wallow in pity and sit with angst under a tree, a place that encourages nasty trains of thoughts that nestle in his brain like worms. "Do you think Nancy's ever hooked up with other guys?"

He regrets asking it the minute the question leaves his mouth, especially to Deirdre of all people. The voice that just spoke with his mouth sends petty, pathetically wrapped up in a thirst for attention.

"Probably not," Deirdre says where she's rummaging through the basket. "She's too wholesome. Then again, she's constantly across the world in places like France and Italy where cute guys are practically falling out of the sky. Plus it might break up your relationship, so I totally encourage it."

"Hey!"

"I'm kidding," Deirdre huffs, one hand still snooping through the packed food. "Why are you even asking? I thought you two were disgustingly in love."

Ned shrugs even though he probably should've said "we are." Are they? Does being in love mean never seeing each other but still wanting to? Is that what love is—that intense feeling of longing, of desire, of staring at a clock wondering when someone will come home? 

Deirdre interrupts him before he can think too carefully about it. "Ugh," she says. "Pudding cups and juice boxes? Is this seriously your idea of a romantic picnic? Where's the wine?"

"I'm not twenty-one," Ned says.

Deirdre sighs heavily like a teacher explaining the same concept for the fiftieth time. "Nedstopher," she murmurs. "Haven't you ever done something a little wild?" She cocks her head to the side. "I have an idea. My dad has an entire basement full of vintage wines. Why don't we crack one open and pop your alcohol cherry?"

The idea sounds tempting, especially considering that Nancy wouldn't like it. Annoyingly enough, she would still trust him whole-heartedly. Even if he told her he's getting drunk with Deirdre Shannon in her basement, Nancy probably wouldn't bat an eyelash. He wishes she'd be just a little more jealous, or a little less convinced of his fidelity and goodness and Nice Boyfriend Tendencies. Maybe then she'd be home more. 

"No thanks," Ned finally says. "I'll pass."

"How predicable," Deirdre sighs. She wiggles a juice box by his shoulder, apple flavored. "Juice box?"

He takes it, spearheading the straw into it and taking a long sip that nearly empties the whole thing in one go.

"This isn't exactly the evening I had planned," he confesses. Across the picturesque lake, a few ducks are paddling into the water, and stupidly enough, Ned wonders if they're duck partners. Bird spouses. Ducks don't have lovers, do they? 

"This is better, right?" Deirdre chirps. "Because I'm here."

Sure is better than being alone, Ned thinks, which is almost sad and definitely borderline pathetic. 

"Do you think ducks mate for life?" Deirdre asks curiously, eyes cast across the lake. Ned looks at her, a little startled. "What?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking that too."

She shoots a look at him. "I know penguins do. They even propose." She tears open a pudding cup and licks the wrapper. "If flightless birds can go through the trouble of finding the right pebble to present to their girlfriends, I think an able-bodied cute boy like yourself can come up with a better way to woo a girl than pudding cups. And not even the good brand."

Ned tries to catch up. Penguins and pebbles and—what? "Deirdre, this isn't a date."

"Okay," she says airily, brushing him off, "but just so you know, you do a good impression of a guy on a date."

"Yeah, a date with Nancy."

"Then how come I'm here instead? And how come our topic of discussion is your girlfriend getting it on with other guys?"

"It isn't!"

"Okay," she says again, this time drawing it out with a fair amount of disbelief. "Keep telling yourself that. Especially as it starts getting darker and we get to watch the sunset together. You know, like a couple."

Ned ignores her. He pillows his head on his forearms, squinting into the dimming sky. He wonders if Nancy would be jealous should she happen to see the two of them like this, stretched out side by side on a picnic blanket, jealous the same way Ned sometimes is deep in his stomach when he thinks about Nancy and Frank together, the way he must watch her, the way she probably notices. Then again, Nancy's never been a jealous girl. 

"I just want to be more of a priority," Ned says softly. "Do you know what it feels like to never be one?"

Deirdre's hand comes up to brush a strand of hair out of her face, the moments more mechanic than usual, stiff with discontent. She lets out a ludicrous exhale. "What do you think?" she says. "I'm battling for the attention of a boy who has his eyes practically glued on the most boring girl in town." She sends him a pointed glare. "And he hardly notices me."

For a moment, Ned feels bad about the implications, specifically the bit that make him feel like a giant hypocrite. "But we're not in a relationship. It's different."

"Well, I'm still your friend, aren't I?" Deirdre grumbles, rolling off her stomach to sit up and stare crossly at the lake. "Friends need attention too. Like plants. You can't just expect them to survive if you never look at them."

"I look at you," Ned says. She doesn't look at him, her silence speaking for her. "I didn't know being friends is even something you wanted."

"With you, duh." Deirdre throws a handful of grass at him. For the brief moment that her head swivels toward his again, he sees that her eyes are glossier than before, a sheen of wetness that catches the light.

"Well, okay," Ned says. "We can be friends."

He feels bizarre saying it. Deirdre's a girl who's made it her mission to purposefully shun Nancy, throw jabs at her from all directions, and zero in on her boyfriend. Being friendly with her is probably a twisted decision to make, especially after Nancy's made it very clear that Deirdre has a lot more than friendship in mind with him. From where he's watching her silhouette, Ned can see Deirdre's hands discreetly climb up to her cheeks, possibly to thumb after the starts of tears. 

"You know, technically," Deirdre says, and when she speaks, she sounds perfectly composed, "this is our second date. Our first date was a while ago, back when Nancy was in jail."

Ned remembers. He brought her to a quaint diner long enough for Bess to snoop around her table at Scoop. She hadn't left a moment silent during their entire outing, and yet Ned doesn't remember a single word from the conversation, his worry for Nancy blocking everything else out. Looking back, he feels like a jerk. He wonders if Deirdre knows it wasn't a real date, just a ploy to get to the bottom of Nancy's mystery. If she doesn't know, he doesn't want to tell her.

"Our third one could stand to be better than the first two," Deirdre comments. "If you're looking for ideas, think scenic boat ride. Or spontaneous trip to Paris."

"As friends?"

Deirdre looks over her shoulder to catch his eye. "Sure, Nedwin," she says with a rather merciless smile. "As friends."

\--

Ned notices the end might be near in between the fourth and fifth incidents.

Something is changing, Ned knows that much. Sometimes his relationship with Nancy feels like it’s on a precipice when he looks at it from behind the scenes. His parents, their friends, they all see what’s outside of the curtain, the version of Ned and Nancy that’s an unshakable unit, endlessly solid. When he dares to peel away the screen, he sees something fragile, patched together with duct tape.

Sitting alone at Scoop with one eye constantly on his phone, waiting for Nancy to call, this sinks in more than it ever has before. He imagines her, frolicking through New Zealand for her latest adventure, throwing herself into reality TV drama without a single thought to spar for Ned. How often does she really even think about him? Is she calling _other_ people? 

A sorry truth hits him like a tackle—he’s never been Nancy’s priority, and he probably never will be. Maybe he would if she gave up mysteries, which is an Asshole Thought Ned can label himself as such. He isn’t even sure what he really wants—for Nancy to slow down, or for him to speed up.

“Your ice cream’s melting.”

Ned looks up, expecting Toni. He should’ve known it was Deirdre. He glances at his ice cream; it is indeed swimming away. He pushes it aside. 

“I don’t care,” he says.

“Ooh. Intense man woe vibes over here,” Deirdre says, taking a seat next to him without waiting for an invitation. “Does it have anything to do with your doting girlfriend? Opportunely missing from your side?”

“Opportunely?”

“For me, of course,” she says, chipper as ever. “I get to entertain you when you’re in a vulnerable state.” She nudges him with her elbow to pull his eyes up from the table. “Nancy’s in New Zealand, right?”

“How do you know?”

She rolls her eyes, pulling Ned’s untouched ice cream toward herself. “Like anyone could forget the scene Bess made here when they were chosen for the show.”

Right. Ned would remember if he had actually been there. He had been at Emerson, busy with an exam, completely missing the small window of time that Nancy was here between travels. 

“Turn that frown upside down,” Deirdre says, digging into Ned’s ice cream. “You’re in the presence of a beautiful woman.

She shoots him a dazzling grin. She’s definitely very persistent, Ned ought to give her that. She’s certainly giving him more attention than his own girlfriend.

They’re breaking up, he can feel it. He feels the statement testing itself on his tongue, wanting to be said aloud, and for one second, he considers giving into the urge. Then he remembers his audience—god knows what Deirdre would say if she heard him mulling over doubts. Probably slide her hand up his knee and offer herself up for date nights. Briefly, he wonders if that would be so bad. He’s been on a shortage of love lately, making him uncommonly thirsty for it.

Screw it. “I think we’re in trouble,” Ned divulges. In his peripherals, he sees Deirdre’s eyes widen slightly. “I just think I love her more than she loves me. There’s this… imbalance between us.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Deirdre asks levelly. It sounds like she wants to let more emotion in to her voice but is purposefully restricting herself. 

“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I have.”

“You could do better,” Deirdre says breezily, licking the spoon free of leftover ice cream.

Can he, really? What’s better than a girlfriend internationally known for her sleuthing ability? A girl who’s actually around, maybe? He looks at Deirdre. He knows that she likes him, or at least, it seemed like she still did when they last hung out. He remembers Joe’s words, his casual suggestion to keep an eye out for someone new. 

"Do you still like me?" Ned asks. "I mean, like me, like me?"

Deirdre's eyebrows slant together. "Why?"

"Cause," he mumbles. "I like having you like me. It makes me feel... I don't know, good. Sort of like if Nancy's gone, I won't have to be alone."

Out of nowhere, an open palm saps over Ned's temple, throwing him off balance and nearly off his chair. 

"What is wrong with you?" Deirdre screeches. "So you'll have a plan B? So there will always be someone around to love you even if you don't like them?" She gets to her feet with an air of indignation that lets Ned know he just single-handedly ruined the evening. "I love myself more than I love you, Ned Nickerson, and being single isn't so bad."

She pushes the chair back into place with an aggressive shove, its legs scraping on the tiled floor and announcing her departure for her. The look she throws Ned is complete acrimony, nothing like the usual flirtatious glance sent his way from her coy eyes, and she throws her spoon on the table with a clatter. The bell tinkling above the door follows her as she leaves. Even with Scoop basically empty, Ned still feels Toni’s eyes on his backside as if silently judging him.

Okay then. So much for that plan.

\--

The fifth time, Ned sees it coming. 

His phone buzzes on his stomach where he's stretched on his bed, still in worn jeans and the tee he sweated in after his morning jog. There's something uncomfortably more demeaning about waiting for a date in nice, crisp clothes than lounging in something soft and old. For starters, soft and old clothes don’t expect something. Soft and old clothes don’t involve painstakingly removing nice clothes when an evening’s plans are ruined.

"Hey," Ned says, picking up the call without bothering to check the caller. Instead he checks his watch—3:02pm. Perfect timing for canceling a date meant to start at 3:00pm. "You have to cancel, don't you?"

For a moment, Nancy stays silent, probably rendered quiet with guilt. "I'm really sorry," she says, her voice tight the way it always is when she knows she's letting Ned down.

He exhales. "Where are you going this time?"

"I have to go to Greece," she says. "But I'll be back soon. After this play is over—"

"Nancy," Ned says after the third minute of listening to Nancy's distracted explanations waft through the phone. There's a lot of noise audible around her, like the bustling din of an airport. "This isn't working."

She stops talking. Vaguely, Ned can make out the sound of a flight being announced as delayed over the intercom through the phone. All he can notice is the startling contrast of how quiet it is where he's at, nothing but the thrum of the paused TV nearby. It seems like an apt representation of who they are—Nancy, always busy, and Ned, happy just to relax on the couch and watch Friends reruns. Maybe he's been trying too hard to tame an animal meant to be wild, to run free and chase the wind, to explore the world.

"What are you saying?" Nancy asks him. Her voice is without inflection, perfectly neutral. Maybe she saw this coming. 

"I think you know," Ned says. "I just think we're in such different places all the time. Literally and figuratively."

He looks over at his desk where a framed photo of the two of them sits. It's almost two years old, never updated during the constant whir of events in Nancy's life, a tornado of excitement that never seemed to reach Ned. He considers this being the end of them—or at least the romantic end—and hopes that in the future, they'll still be able to take a new picture together. As friends. Good friends.

"Is that what you want?" Nancy asks.

"I want to still be in your life," Ned says. "I just don't think I'm supposed to be as your boyfriend."

"Oh." Nancy seems speechless.

"I still love you, you know," Ned says. His fingers are nervous where they're toying with the frayed hem of his pillowcase, but it feels strangely refreshing to say this stuff out loud. "Just maybe not... in love. I mean. Are you really still in love with me too?"

"I don't know," Nancy answers.

"I mean… Maybe years later when you want to settle down we can do this. For real."

He doesn't think they will. Nancy will never _settle down_. Even when she isn't searching out mysteries, they're searching out her. It's probably her destiny. Ned's just happy to have been along for the ride as far as he was.

"Okay," Nancy says. "But we won't lose touch."

"We won't," he promises.

He's glad she doesn't ask any probing questions like "when did you start thinking about this" or "is there someone else?" There isn't, or at least, there never would've been while Nancy was around. A content, resolved silence stretches between them for a few uninterrupted moments.

"We'll talk some more when I get back," Nancy says. 

"All right. Until then." He looks at the photograph again. “Be safe.”

He hangs up just as the airport intercom crackles through the phone again and sets the phone back on his stomach. Something in the room feels strangely less heavy than it did before, almost like a certain amount of closure has descended on Ned's shoulders. He looks out the window by his bedside table where a couple of kids are playing hopscotch in the street. A part of him almost expects the world to look different now through the eyes of a single man, but he feels exactly the same. Maybe even a little better than he did ten minutes ago. 

\--

Ned knocks on the door to Deirdre's house at 7:17pm after having spent thirteen minutes in his car working up the nerve to do so. Over by the window, the curtain is drawn back enough for him to get a glimpse of the lamplight in the living room, and he desperately hopes Mr. or Mrs. Shannon won’t be the one to open the door.

His worries are appeased when Deirdre opens the door, her face flashing from confusion, pleased surprise, and carefully structured indifference in seconds.

"What are you doing here?"

Ned feels the pressure of the spotlight shine on his back as he rolls back and forth on the balls of his feet. "I thought maybe that offer to share wine might still be on the table."

Deirdre raises one eyebrow. She folds her arms into the crooks of her elbows. "I thought you were too much of a goody goody to have alcohol."

She stands in front of him, arms crossed, blocking the threshold, the most unresponsive to him she's ever been. Ned hates to admit that he likes her this way. This Deirdre, with her chin in the air, she's feisty and hard to please. She's a keeper.

"Yeah, well. I thought it might be fun with you."

She surveys him with narrowed eyes, almost as if she might reject him. Then she steps aside. "Come on in," she says. "My parents are out on date night."

Ned follows her. He realizes he's never been in her house before. It’s not as pristine as Nancy’s, busier, more like a home that’s been thoroughly lived in. He follows her dutifully to the kitchen where she rummages around underneath the sink until she emerges with a dark bottle and a corkscrew, sliding the cork free with a loud pop. 

“What are you doing here?” Deirdre asks suspiciously. “I’m assuming it’s not just for the free booze.”

He shakes his head, taking a seat in a stool by the island counter where Deirdre’s placed the wine. She grabs a free glasses—nice ones, not the type anybody would drink chocolate milk out of—and starts generously filling both. 

"I'm sorry about what I said the other day," Ned says. "It wasn't cool."

"It wasn't," she agrees. She pushes the glass toward him and looks pointedly at it until he takes a sip. The flavor is very musty, like dry, overwhelming grape juice with just enough of the burn of alcohol to remind him he's not having a juice box on a summer's day. Deidre raps her fingers on the countertop. "I'm getting back at you by putting laxatives in the wine."

Ned promptly puts the glass down. "Are you serious?"

She huffs out a laugh. "No," she says. "Maybe I just wanted you to feel like you were being punished."

"It worked," Ned mutters, wiping his mouth off on his sleeve. He probably shouldn't. He's drinking grown up beverages, so he ought to act a bit more sophisticated, uphold the mature image Deirdre has of him.

"Relax," Deirdre says. She takes a long gulp of her own glass, presumably to show off. "I'm not that mean."

The eyes she casts to her wine are a little reserved if not outrightly sad. Ned feels terrible. What he's said—he'd go nuts if someone said it to Nancy, even just as the friend he's transitioning himself into, which reminds him: Right. He's a single man now.

"I broke up with Nancy," he blurts out. "Or, well. We decided to end it. We're just far apart all the time and in totally different places."

He waits for Deirdre to break into a victory jig, if not start gloating about how she was perfectly aware this would happen years ago and could've saved Ned the heartache. Instead, she masks her expression behind her glass of wine. 

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

She puts her glass down. The giddiness Ned expects to see on her face isn't there.

"I don't know what to say, honestly," she admits. "I thought you two were gonna be together for eternity." She takes great pains to frame _eternity_ in air quotes. "I thought I'd always just be window shopping around you."

"Window shopping?"

"You know. Looking but not touching, even if you _actually_ want to run into the store and steal a few things."

Ned thinks this is a metaphor. A metaphor where he's the key ingredient. Ultimately, he's pretty sure he's just been complimented. The heat of it runs up the back of his neck, tickling him behind his ears, a warmth that's a combination of embarrassment and the wine settling itself into his bloodstream.

"Well, I'm back on the market now," he says. He spares a glance at the glass in front of him. "You can't get drunk off of wine, can you?"

Deirdre pours herself another glass, having emptied hers when Ned was still tentatively dipping his tongue into his own. "You probably can," she tells him. "If you came to our house parties that I _always invite you to_ you'd probably have seen enough alcohol to make you less of a lightweight."

He looks at her, how her mouth is stained dark red from the wine like a subtle lipstick, how her right side is lit up from the lightbulb over the stove. Here, in this cozy kitchen in Deirdre's house with glasses of wine in hand, Ned feels oddly in place. He wants to kiss her, and the realization doesn't even come suddenly, just bubbles to the surface like it's been hiding itself there for a while.

"Hey, Deirdre," he says, straightening up. "Would you like to go out with me this Friday?"

She tilts her head. "Why? Because you don't like being alone?"

"No," Ned says. "I like you."

He wonders, briefly, what Nancy would think if she were here. She was always telling him to be more adventurous, more spontaneous, and Deirdre is definitely that if nothing else. She would possibly even be happy for him.

"Okay," Deirdre says with a nod. "I'd like that." She smiles and clinks their glasses together, her grin tight with a poorly suppressed satisfaction threatening to spill over the brim of her contained emotions. "Cheers to winning over Nancy."

"Winning?"

“Yeah, the prize.” She rolls her eyes. “You, you dummy.”

The prize. Like he’s something worth waiting for, maybe even worth coming home for. Or alternatively, staying home for.

He’s looking forward to Friday.

\--

Ned waits all next Friday for the infamous cancellation text message or perfunctory voicemail letting him know the evening's off. He rolls the phone around in his palm, fully anticipating the buzz of familiar rejection.

It doesn't come. 

\--

At five o'clock sharp, as per instructions from Deirdre to not be late, Ned raps on the front door of Deirdre's house. 

It feels strange, actually going on dates again, not just wistfully looking forward to them. But good strange, like going through the trouble of finding nice clothes and a well-fitting blazer and keeping his pockets lined with emergency mints. Standing on the steps in front of a house that isn't Nancy’s feels foreign and exhilarating and nerve-wracking all at once—and then Deirdre opens the door.

She's in heeled sandals and a dress that's snug around her waist, headband tucked behind her ear and a purse slinging from her shoulder as she closes the door behind her. 

"Well, don't you clean up good," she drawls. "How do I look?"

Ned smiles. He answers honestly. "Awesome."

For a minute, he feels incredibly awkward, almost like a thirteen-year-old boy braving his first date with a girl from the playground. His body feels incredibly uncertain of itself—how to move, how to act, how to present itself—and then he remembers exactly who he's dealing with here. Deirdre. He loosens up. 

"So we're not going on a spontaneous trip to Paris as requested," he tells Deirdre. "Sorry. Budget couldn't work it out."

Deirdre gives a histrionic sigh in response. "All right. I suppose I'll be the bread winner in this relationship." She puts her hands on her hips. "Where are we going instead?"

"Um." He shifts on the steps. "How do you feel about glow-in-the-dark mini golf?"

He waits for the inevitable mockery. Instead, Deirdre lifts her chin as if accepting a challenge. "I feel like... you're going to regret that choice in a few hours from now. I'm going to own your ass."

He lets out a bout of ridiculously nervous laughter. He has the feeling he’s going to have a much needed good night, but before he stews in nerves for hours, he has to check something first. He scoots closer, just an imperceptible inch.

"Okay, I know this is supposed to happen at the end of the date, but if it's all right with you..."

He leans in, giving her the time to stop him as he arches closer and closer. Someone seems to have turned off the volume in the world, nothing but the way Deirdre's eyes are watching him and the way her clavicle smells of soft, rosy perfume bearing any real meaning to him. Finally, his lips descend on hers. She kisses back.

As it happens, Ned vaguely registers that the last girl—the only girl—he's kissed is Nancy, and how unsurprisingly different Deirdre is in how she kisses. She pushes her body forward so her chest is brushing Ned's as she rises up on her tip toes to kiss with an insistence, an unwillingness to yield, a decidedly less dainty move than he expected out of her heels and lip gloss. Looks like he'll have to reorganize all of his thoughts and assumptions about Deirdre.

She pulls away, but not before pushing in for one, two more teasing kisses that are short and sweet, full of the promise of more coming later if Ned plays his cards right. When she's back to a wider proximity, she looks like a totally different girl to Ned. It's the glow that surrounds someone, Ned realizes, when he quite likes them.

"Was that good enough for you?" Deirdre asks, hands square on her hips. 

"Yeah," Ned tells her, momentarily incapable of anything larger than monosyllabic words as he tries to take in the reality around him. He's kissed Deirdre Shannon. He likes Deirdre Shannon. He's actually a little crushed by her. 

"Great, because I'm starved."

She starts down the front steps, but Ned stops her, reaching for her arm. 

"Wait," he says. He slips down a step to be level with her. "A little while ago you told me you loved yourself more than you loved me," Ned reminds her. "And it sort of insinuated, well. That you love me."

Deirdre's face is chiseled into the epitome of stoic apathy. But her ears are pink. "Well, Nedwin." She loops her arm through his. "Let's see how dinner goes first."


End file.
